Second Chances
by Sherlolly-221B
Summary: Sequel to First Impressions. After the world's only consulting detective decided to propose to his pathologist, things seem to keep getting worse, with characters from both Sherlock and Molly's past turning up out of the blue. Sherlock can't forgive and Molly can't forget, but everyone deserves a second chance, don't they? Cover image by theprivatelifeofsherlockholmes on tumblr.
1. An Unexpected Proposal

**Hello folks! I decided to do a sequel to first impressions - and here it is! Yes, I know the title's cheesy.**

**So many of you liked first impressions which means so much and I decided to give you this as a treat! I got so absorbed in the first impressions world that I felt like I had to do this. In this story there will be old characters which everyone knows already, characters from Sherlock and Molly's past and new characters who nobody knows.**

**This chapter moves quite quickly, so I can move onto the main plot. What is the main plot, you ask? As if I'm going to tell you ;)**

**So thank you for reading this, and if you haven't read first impressions PLEASE DO because this story will not make sense otherwise. You'll be like 'who on earth is Robert?' and your brain will explode from over-thinking (not really).**

* * *

It had been a month since they last saw Robert – a month since Sherlock and Molly declared their love for each other. It had come as a shock to everyone. Sherlock Holmes was supposed to be a sociopath. He claimed to prefer being alone than in the company of others. He only had a few friends and he had never had a romantic partner, which was why everyone was surprised when he announced that he was madly in love with Molly Hooper.

There was no doubt about it – she had always been his, just not in that way. She was his pathologist; willing to do anything for him, prepared to risk her job and a great deal of other things for him. And he _needed_ her. She had always been there for him and he had always trusted her. Molly had saved his life, which was something he couldn't forget easily. When he found out about Robert, he felt like he had to help Molly – like it was his responsibility. Sherlock had seen her hurt, and, even if the man was ill, he would never forgive Robert for what he had done.

John and Sherlock were alone together at Baker Street for the first time in what seemed like years. Sherlock was frantically pacing up and down the room, whilst John watched from his armchair, curious and worried about his friend's strange behaviour. It was not unusual for Sherlock to be irritable or bored, but John knew his friend well and he could tell there was something wrong.

"Alright," said John, breaking the silence, "This is ridiculous. What's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter, John," Sherlock snapped back, "I'm fine. Absolutely fine."

"Sherlock, you look terrified," the doctor told, "Please, just tell me what's wrong."

Sherlock stopped pacing, turned to face his flatmate and took a deep breath.

"I'm going to ask Molly to marry me." he stated.

"You're… Sorry, _what_?! You're asking her to _marry_ you?" John asked incredulously.

"You sound surprised."

"I _am_ surprised, Sherlock. Jesus… You've only been dating for a couple of months."

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

"I've been dating Mary for much longer and I don't plan on proposing for a while," John continued, "Sherlock, are you sure you're making the right decision? You don't have to rush into this."

"John, although you may find this difficult to believe, I am truly in love with Molly Hooper and I would like to make her my wife," Sherlock replied, "We may have only been romantically involved for the past few months, but I have known Molly for a long time. And anyway, she's been hopelessly in love with me ever since I first walked through the morgue doors."

Sherlock smiled arrogantly and John rolled his eyes.

"I get that, Sherlock, all I'm saying is this might not work out as planned and if you're engaged it will be harder to-"

"I have no intention of leaving her, John." the detective interrupted.

"I never said you did. It's just that sometimes these things don't go the way you would expect-"

"Everything will be fine," Sherlock cut in again, "Don't you see, John? We love each other."

John let out a sigh and nodded. "Alright. You propose, if you think it's the right thing to do. You've got my support."

"Thank you. Now, I need a ring."

* * *

Sherlock spent most of the afternoon in jewellers, looking for the one perfect ring that he could give to Molly. Some of them looked cheap and tacky, whilst others just didn't seem right. He knew Molly's personal tastes but finding a ring was still an impossible task.

As he was heading towards yet another jewellery shop, an expensive black car pulled up on the curb. Sherlock let out an irritated sigh as the car door opened.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" he asked, as his brother got out of the car.

"Sherlock, am I correct in thinking that you are planning to ask for Miss Hooper's hand in marriage?" Mycroft inquired, "You've been in various jewellers around London this afternoon, and seeing as you're so indecisive it was apparent that you were trying to purchase something of great importance – in this case an engagement ring."

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Considering that if you _do_ get married she will be my sister-in-law, I think it _is_ my business," Mycroft replied, "If you are going to propose, I would be happy to cover the cost of the ring and any other items which you might require."

Sherlock let out a laugh. "Thanks for the offer, but I can manage by myself."

"You don't seem to have had much luck so far," Mycroft continued, ignoring his younger brother, "Perhaps this will help?"

He took a small box from his overcoat pocket and handed it to Sherlock.

"What's this?" the latter questioned, studying it inquisitively.

"Our grandmother's engagement ring. She gave it to me in the hope that I might get married one day, but I don't think that will be happening any time soon. It's yours now."

Sherlock opened the box, curious to see the ring inside. It was a thin band of white gold, with an amethyst in the centre and two small diamonds on either side. The ring seemed perfect. It was the right size for Molly's dainty fingers. Sherlock knew that she preferred this colour metal, and purple was one of her favourite colours.

"What do you think?" Mycroft asked.

"It's wonderful," Sherlock answered, staring at the ring, "Molly will love it."

"I thought as much. I'll be on my way, then."

Mycroft turned around and began to walk away, his umbrella swinging at his side. Sherlock took another look at the ring and then looked up at his brother.

"Mycroft, wait."

The man stopped walking and turned back to face Sherlock. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

Mycroft smiled briefly before continuing to walk down the pavement.

* * *

Molly received a text from Sherlock instructing her to meet him on Baker Street at nine o'clock. He probably had something romantic planned, though she could hardly imagine what.

She took a quick shower and then spent some time lounging on the sofa with Toby asleep on her lap, letting her hair dry naturally so it formed soft curls. She spent an hour alternating between watching telly and reading her favourite romance novel, all the while thinking about Sherlock. What did he have up his sleeve this time?

Molly changed into a light purple dress and slipped on a pair of brown brogues. She put some diamond earrings in and put on a silver necklace, as well as applying a touch of coral lipstick. Even though she had no idea what she was going to be doing tonight, she wanted to look good, although she had to dress sensibly. She would have loved to wear heels, but she imagined tripping over the curb and making a fool of herself, so she stuck with flats.

She peered at the clock and decided it was time to leave.

* * *

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned around when he heard Molly's voice from behind him. He had been waiting for ages and he was experiencing something he had never felt before – nerves. He was terrified, to be honest. He had never done anything like this before. But when he saw her standing there, dressed in the most beautiful lilac dress with her chestnut hair down in ringlets and her small mouth parted slightly, all the nerves went away.

Molly looked around the room in disbelief. The lights were off and there were dozens of candles on the mantelpiece and the tables. Sherlock had clearly gone to a lot of effort. He was dressed in his usual black trousers and purple shirt, which coincidentally matched Molly's own outfit.

"Molly, listen, there's something I need to ask you."

She felt her heart skip a beat.

"Over the past few months I have come to realise how important you are to me; how much I love you," Sherlock continued, "You mean the world to me. I don't know what I'd do without you. You've always been there for me and that means _so_ much. I love you, Molly, I really do, and I was trying to think of things I could do to show you that, so… Molly Hooper," He got down on one knee and took a box from his trouser pocket, as Molly stared, astonished, "Would you do me the honour of becoming Molly Holmes?"

He opened the box, revealing a beautiful ring with a purple stone and two small diamonds.

"Yes!" Molly squealed, "I mean, of course, I… I don't know what to say."

She felt tears of joy running down her cheeks as Sherlock slipped the ring onto her finger. Her dreams were coming true. She was going to marry Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

**Thank you everyone!**

**What did you think? I needed Sherlock to propose in the first chapter, which is why there's all that 'talking to John, getting a ring' business...**

**Um...**

**Anyway, see you soon! And I'm still continuing with An Adventure of Their Own btw.**

**Hev :)**


	2. Missing Each Other

**Hey guys! This is the second chapter of second chances it took me a lot of seconds why do I keep saying second?**

**I'm sorry about the delay, but, like I said on my profile page thing, I'm preparing for exams and I'm very busy during the week so this is basically the only time I get. Please understand that these are important to my education and everything so... You know, don't hate me for it.**

**Thanks to those few who reviewed, and the people who read this! I'll have to put it on tumblr so people can see it... But, you know, your reviews are appreciated hugely by little old me :)**

**Chapter two. Still no people who deserve second chances, but there will be in the next chapter. **

**Here it is folks! **

**(Down a bit, btw)**

* * *

After that unexpected but totally perfect night, Molly and Sherlock practically spent the whole week together. John had noticed that Sherlock was spending hours on end at the morgue, not for work, but so he could be with his fiancée. He hadn't complained as much as usual about not having a case, but he had looked incredibly frustrated when he was alone – in which context John couldn't tell.

Sherlock was extremely protective of Molly, John had observed, although that was to be expected after all that had occurred with Doctor Henderson. He was always kind towards her – he never snapped at her or made a nasty comment. It was as if he was trying to make up for being such an arse to her all of these years. John had mentioned this to him and he had looked _ashamed_ of himself for it. Sherlock Holmes was ashamed of himself and that made John Watson laugh.

"You shouldn't feel so bad about it," John told him, "That's just the person you are."

"But I _do_ feel bad, John," Sherlock replied, "The way I used to treat her… It was wrong."

"No, it was Sherlock," corrected the doctor, "You speak like that to everyone, and most of the time you don't realise how much damage you cause. What's _wrong_ is hurting someone intentionally like-"

"Don't say it," Sherlock cut in quickly, "He's behind bars now. It was as if he was never a part of our lives and I'd like to keep it that way, for Molly's sake."

"I wasn't going to say Robert." John responded. Sherlock cast him a puzzled expression.

* * *

Molly hadn't seen Sherlock all day, which made a change. She predicted that he was working on a case, or spending time at Baker Street. He had been in the morgue every day this week and every time he had requested only one thing: her company. Really, Sherlock Holmes wanting company, it was absurd! He had helped her with some of the post-mortems, but he hadn't asked for anything beyond an intellectual challenge.

Molly had a particularly busy schedule. There had been two new corpses brought in already, neither of which had been identified. They had both suffered the same fatal injuries, which were so horrific it made her shiver. It was a particularly gruesome business, which no doubt Sherlock would have loved to be a part of if he was here.

She wished that he _was_ here. Being without him for just a day was hard. She remembered the days when she had fawned over him, attending to his every need and doing whatever he told her to. There were times when he was such a jerk, though she never loved him any less for it. Recently he had changed his ways, and he was like the most compassionate man on the planet. Of course, she had thought the same thing about both Jim and Robert, but this was different. Sherlock wasn't like them. Sherlock was genuine.

* * *

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, "If you weren't talking about Robert, who _were_ you talking about?"

John let out a sigh. "You know, Sherlock, for the world's only consulting detective you sure do miss the obvious a lot of the time."

"What you're saying is…?"

"I was talking about Moriarty."

The name left a deadly silence hanging in the air, like it was a curse. The room seemed to turn cold.

"Ah," Sherlock said after a moment, "I see."

"That man ruined my life," continued John, "I thought you were dead because of him. I was driving myself crazy. It hurt _so_ much, Sherlock, it-"

"He's dead now, John, remember?"

"I know. But thinking about everything that happened… It still hurts, even now that I know you're alive."

Sherlock swallowed and said nothing, feeling guilty about the pain he had inflicted on the man he regarded as his best friend, even though it was really Moriarty's fault.

"Shouldn't you go and visit Molly soon?" John queried.

The detective sighed and nodded. "I'll go now. I haven't seen her all day and it's driving me mad."

"You're really in love with her, huh?"

"I wouldn't have asked her to marry me if I wasn't."

With that Sherlock was rushing down the stairs of 221B, obviously in a hurry to reach his beloved pathologist.

* * *

When the doors to the morgue swung open, Molly was overjoyed to see her betrothed standing there in his elegant coat and navy scarf. His hair was ruffled, like he had ran all the way to Bart's to see her, although it was probably just an effect of the strong winds outside.

Molly instantly rushed over and flung her arms around him, holding him tightly and not letting go. He returned the embrace, wrapping his long arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder.

"I've missed you." Molly whispered, sighing with relief.

"I've missed you too," Sherlock responded, "Oh, Molly, it's been a _day_. I don't understand why it's so hard to be without you."

"You should have come sooner."

"It was John who prompted me to leave," the detective informed her, "I wouldn't have come if it wasn't for him. We were supposed to be spending some time together but there's only so much you can talk about in one morning."

"You wanted to be with your friend. That's sweet." Molly told him with a smile.

Sherlock scoffed and stepped backwards. "I don't do 'sweet'."

"You just did," Molly laughed, "Well, anyway, I've got something you might be interested in."

She showed him the two bodies, explaining how they had died and the connection between their injuries. He was soon back to his usual Sherlockian self, examining the corpses keenly with his magnifying glass, moving over each body to take a closer look at the wounds. Molly saw him smile a little as he worked. Despite his best efforts to hide it, it was clear that he was enjoying himself. She reckoned that she was the only thing that had kept him from losing his mind with boredom.

"We have ourselves a unique double homicide." he remarked, smirking to himself.

"Make that a triple homicide." said Lestrade, appearing from nowhere.

"Another one?" Sherlock questioned. The inspector nodded. "Where?"

"Southbank. Can you come or are you… Busy?" At that point Greg turned to Molly and smiled awkwardly.

"I'll come." answered Sherlock.

Molly sighed. "You only just got here." she muttered under her breath.

Sherlock planted a kiss on her forehead. "I'll see you again soon. It won't take too long."

"Sherlock, you don't _have_ to come, you can stay with your new fiancée if you want to." Lestrade made a point of saying.

"I _want_ to come," Sherlock replied, "A vicious triple murder is just what I need right now."

The two men left the mortuary and Molly's heart sank. She was left with the same disappointed feeling that she always used to have whenever Sherlock rejected her.

Even though it seemed that he wanted to spend more and more time with her recently, it was evident that his work was far more important to him than she would ever be, and that was something she would just have to accept.

* * *

**Ta da! Magic! Well, not really.**

**I apologise for my awful chapter titles which is like my thing now. I should just have chapter numbers... It would be a lot easier...**

**Poor Molly at the end there... :(**

**Next chapter****_ mark_****s the official start of the triple murder case, and there will be someone who gets a second chance... But who? **

**(I literally just left a clue)**

**Oh, and all you adventure of their own fans FEAR NOT for there is a new chapter coming soon babies!**

**Thanks guys!**

**Hev :) xxx**


	3. A Murder on Brad Street

**Hello guys! I am so excited to be back! I've had loads of examses, haven't I precious? **

**Oh God I've gone all Gollum today.**

**This chapter includes the first person to get a second chance. They are an OC, and all of the (many) OCs in this story will be named after someone Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes related. Just noticed that Robert could be named after RDJ... Should have mentioned that earlier...**

**It is also the start of the murder case muahaha. It's not based on any SH story as such, but there will be aspects from a few. **

**HEY! Sherlockian quiz (I might do one of these every chapter)... Can you spot the Sherlock Holmes canon reference? Hmm... Let's see...**

**Sorry about the wait again! And here it is:**

* * *

The crime scene was on Brad Street, a quiet, almost deserted, place in the borough of Lambeth, near South Bank. If you peered over the high brick wall, you could see the backs of dozens of houses, each exactly the same colour and style. It was a dismal place. The crime had taken place inside a garage with a black door that added to the dreary atmosphere. On the ground lay the body of a young woman, with exactly the same injuries as the other two victims.

"How long has she been here?" Sherlock asked, lifting the blue and white crime scene tape and walking straight under it.

"Since last night," Lestrade replied, "We don't know who she is – there's no ID on her. She was found about an hour ago by a local lad. We're questioning him now."

"There's no need for that, Lestrade. He isn't the killer."

The inspector opened his mouth to protest, but realised that Sherlock was probably right. He always was.

"You brought the freak?"

Sherlock sighed with irritation when he heard Sally's voice.

"Don't call him that, Donovan," said Lestrade firmly, "You know he'll solve this case quicker than any of us."

The consulting detective smirked and continued to examine the corpse. He discovered a folded piece of paper tucked into the woman's sleeve, which he opened and read.

"Fascinating." he muttered to himself.

Lestrade furrowed his brows. "What is?"

"This note," Sherlock answered, "It's an invitation."

"An invitation to what?" asked Sally.

"An invitation to her death."

* * *

Molly had finished her shift and had stopped for a drink in the small café opposite St Bart's. She was just leaving when she heard the sound of a familiar voice calling her name. She turned around swiftly and was faced with a man who she had not seen in years.

"_Mark_?" she asked incredulously, "W-what are you doing here? What do you want?"

"I need to talk to you, Molly." the man replied with a straight face.

"No," Molly said, trying to sound stern but the word sounded more like a squeak, "I-I don't want to talk to you. Leave me alone."

She began walking in the opposite direction but Mark ran after her and caught her by the arm.

"Don't I at least deserve a second chance?" he asked, "I know I wasn't a great boyfriend but-"

"You lied to me, Mark." Molly cut in, feeling the tears forming in her eyes.

She had met him when she was at university, years before she met Sherlock. After they had known each other for a year, he asked her out on a date, and they were together for almost two years. It was the first and longest relationship that Molly had ever had.

But all of Molly's relationships ended badly. She remembered that terrible Christmas Eve when she had opened the bedroom door and found Mark with another woman. The scene was something that made her feel sick. How could he betray her like that after they had been going out for so long? It didn't make sense.

"Give me another chance, Molly," Mark requested, "I'll make it up to you."

"I can't," the pathologist told him, "I'm engaged."

"_Engaged_? To who?"

Molly let out a sigh. "H-he's called Sherlock. He loves me and he would never do anything to hurt me."

"I came all this way just so I could be with you again." the man muttered under his breath.

"Why come now?" Molly inquired, "After all these years, why would you just suddenly decide that you wanted me back?"

Mark kept quiet and sheepishly looked down at the floor.

"Oh, right, I get it," Molly said, her voice surprisingly bitter, "Your wife left you so you thought you'd come and replace her with me."

"No, that's not-"

"Of _course_ that's why. Just leave me alone, Mark."

She tried to walk away again but he wouldn't let her.

"One chance, Molly," he said, "Let me prove to you that I've changed, and then maybe we can make amends? I would love to be your friend again."

Molly contemplated it for a moment. _Everyone makes mistakes_, she thought to herself, _I should probably give him a second chance at least_.

"Alright. One chance, but that's all, okay?"

Mark nodded and smiled, and they walked down the street together.

* * *

Sherlock returned to Baker Street with questions buzzing around his mind. He remembered what was written on the note:

_Brad Street. Midnight. Don't be late. M_

The initial on the end might just have been a coincidence, but Sherlock couldn't help wondering. M. It could be Mycroft, he supposed, but he knew his brother wasn't a murderer, and that definitely wasn't his handwriting. It could be Moran – Moriarty's sniper – but his weapon of choice was a rifle, not a knife.

Sherlock dismissed the idea of it being Moriarty straight away. The man was dead. Sherlock had seen him commit suicide, the day he… Faked _his_ suicide.

_Ah_.

The thought hit him suddenly and almost came from nowhere, as if he had just been shot. If Sherlock was capable of faking his death, Moriarty was too.

"You okay, Sherlock?" John asked. He was stood in the doorway, worriedly watching his friend's vacant expression.

"I'm fine," Sherlock replied, not looking up, "Just thinking."

He stood and walked out of the room, passing John as he left. The doctor turned to him and asked where he was going. The detective replied with one word:

"Mycroft."

* * *

Molly had forgotten how much she had once loved Mark. He was the one person she had cared about most. After the death of her father, she had been looking for someone – that one person to hold her hand, kiss her forehead and tell her that everything would be alright. She found Mark, and for a while it was perfect.

_Almost perfect_, she thought, _nothing is ever perfect_.

Now she was beginning to realise that _maybe_ she had been a bit harsh. It was Christmas Eve. They were at a party. There was alcohol. Maybe _that_ was the only reason that Mark slept with another woman. But he was still responsible for how much he had to drink, so technically it _was_ his fault…

"My wife didn't leave me, you know," said Mark, as they walked down the street together, "She died."

Molly felt a lump form in her throat. "I… I'm sorry." she managed to whisper.

"Don't be," her companion replied, "She was never…" He cleared his throat. "Maybe I shouldn't have come to find you."

The pathologist put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and smiled awkwardly.

"I'm glad you did," she told him, "Because I've enjoyed talking to you again."

"Does that mean we're friends?" Mark asked enthusiastically.

"No, not just yet. Listen, I've _just_ got engaged. What would everyone think if I suddenly started spending time with another man?"

"They don't have to know. We can spend time together in private."

Molly sighed. "That's even more suspicious. What if someone found out?"

Mark opened his mouth to speak but Molly got there first.

"Trust me, someone _will_ find out eventually," she continued, "We can't be seen together. It would just… I wouldn't know how to explain everything."

"Okay," he replied, sounding slightly hostile, "It's obvious that you don't want to be my friend, so maybe I should just leave."

"No, Mark, that's not what I meant!"

The man was already storming off down the street. Molly caught up with him and grabbed hold of his arm. He turned around abruptly, causing her to lose her footing. She stumbled over and began to fall in the direction of the road, but Mark quickly caught hold of her. For a moment she was left in shock, with his arms clinging tightly onto her back. They stared at each other for a second, then Molly blinked, pulled away and cleared her throat.

"I, er, t-that was clumsy of me." she stammered.

"Very clumsy," Mark responded. He was looking directly at her, with a sad, almost hopeless expression. "You ought to be more careful."

A moment of awkward silence.

"Listen," he continued, "I shouldn't have walked off like that."

"I-I shouldn't have said those things," Molly added, "We can be friends. Nobody's going to assume that we're… You know."

"I know."

Another few seconds passed.

"I've got to get back home now, so… I'll see you soon?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah, great. I'll phone you."

"You don't have my num-"

"Telephone directory. Always useful."

Molly let out a nervous laugh.

"Well, okay then."

She turned to leave, but then turned back a second later and kissed Mark on the cheek. He looked startled. As she walked away, he smiled and started walking in the opposite direction.

* * *

**Yikes.**

**Mark is named after *the one and only* Mark Gatiss, although his surname will be revealed soon... That will be another reference.**

**Did any of you Sherlockians spot the canon in-joke? HINT: It's a location. (Whoever guesses right wins a prize! The prize of being awesome and guessing the right answer!)**

**Goodbye, my preciouses.**

**Goll- I mean Hev ;)**


	4. Confrontation and Conversation

**Hi.**

**I'm so depressed today.**

**I have no idea why I just am.**

**Give me marshmallows please.**

**Right okay so chapter four ummm... Thanks for all those lovely reviews! I say all...**

**Um...**

**This is it..**

* * *

Looking back on the events that occurred earlier, Molly realized that she probably shouldn't have given Mark a second chance. Even if what he had said about his wife was true, he had still cheated on her all of those years ago. Her head kept telling her that she was stupid for listening to him, but her there was something in her heart that told her he deserved her forgiveness. Maybe he _did_ deserve to be listened to, or maybe it was just _her_? Maybe Molly was just too _nice_?

_No, there's no such thing as too nice_, she told herself, _I'm the better person for giving him a chance, even if he didn't deserve one._

She tried to convince herself that she had made the right decision but after everything that had happened with Robert she couldn't help thinking that she would live to regret it.

* * *

Sherlock burst through the doors of the Diogenes Club and walked briskly over to the chair where his brother was seated.

"We need to talk," he hissed, causing everyone to turn and stare at him. Mycroft glared at him, as if telling him to be quiet.

"Come on," Sherlock continued, "What are you waiting for?"

The older Holmes rose from his seat and grabbed hold of Sherlock's arm. He practically dragged him into the Stranger's room.

"Sherlock, what is the meaning of this?" he asked sternly, "You know perfectly well that there is to be _no_ talking in this building, apart from in this room. I swear, if this is about that fiancée of yours…"

"It's got nothing to do with Molly," Sherlock snapped, interrupting his brother, "It's about Moriarty."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "What about Moriarty?"

"He's alive, isn't he? He faked his suicide, just like I did."

"Sherlock, he's not…" Mycroft took a deep breath, "Why on earth would you think_ that_?"

"There was a note at a murder scene on Brad Street written by someone called 'M'. I put two and two together, and-"

"That could be any number of people," interjected Mycroft, "You know you should never reach conclusions without enough data. James Moriarty is _dead_."

Sherlock scowled at his brother. He was lying. He had to be lying.

"Fine," he spat, "If you won't tell me the truth, I guess I'll have to go and find him myself."

He turned to face the door and began to leave. Mycroft sighed and collapsed into an armchair.

* * *

Molly's finger hovered over the letters on her phone's Qwerty Keyboard, moving from S to G to M and then back to S again. She repeated the action several times, nervously biting her bottom lip as she did so.

"Sherlock, Greg, Mary…" she muttered to herself, as she contemplated which number to dial.

Sherlock was her fiancé so he seemed like the obvious option, although she didn't know how she was going to explain the situation to him. Greg was a good friend of hers, but again she would have struggled telling him the story. In the end she chose Mary, who, over the past month or so, had become pretty much her best friend.

"Hi Mary," she said quietly when the woman answered the phone call.

"Hey Molls. You okay?" Mary asked, "You sound upset. What's wrong?"

"N-nothing's wrong, it's just I… I think I might have made a mistake."

There was a moment's silence.

"Go on…"

Molly explained the entire story – how she had ran into Mark, everything that had happened between them and what he had said to her earlier. She told her friend about how she had given him another chance and how ridiculous she felt because of it.

"That guy sounds like a right bastard," said Mary, once Molly had finished, "The only thing _he_ deserves is a kick in the-"

"Mary," Molly interrupted quickly, "His wife _died_. I thought… I thought it was the right thing to do. At the time, anyway."

"If he tries to contact you, just ignore him. Take my advice, Molly Hooper, I've had my fair share of crap boyfriends and he sounds like one of the worst."

Molly let out a hopeless sigh, realising she wasn't getting anywhere.

"I don't know _why_ I listened to him," she told, "At first I was _so_ angry but he was just so… Persuasive."

"You mean he wouldn't leave you alone." Mary corrected.

"No, I… Well, yes, but that's not the point."

"Molly, he's not worth it. You deserve better. And besides, you've got _Sherlock_. He's the love of your life. You can't beat that."

Molly laughed slightly. "You're right. Thank you."

"Any time, Hooper, any time. Give me a call if you ever want to talk."

She hung up the phone, leaving Molly feeling a little less confused.

* * *

"He's alive," Sherlock stated, walking through the doors of 221B.

John looked up from his laptop and cast him a puzzled expression. "Who is?"

"_Moriarty_!" The name sent shivers down the doctor's spine, as he remembered his encounters with the sinister man. "He's alive. He has to be. Mycroft's lying."

"_Mycroft_?"

"Yes, Mycroft. I've just been to see him. I _did_ tell you but clearly you weren't listening."

John scratched the back of his head. "If Mycroft says he's dead, he must be."

"No, because Mycroft is a _liar_. He's hiding it from me for some reason. Even when I confront him with the truth he still denies it."

"Maybe because he's the one telling the truth?"

Sherlock looked down at his flatmate irritably. "Mycroft never tells the truth," he informed.

"You're only saying that because he's your brother," John retorted, "Sibling rivalry. That's what this is. Moriarty is _not_ alive."

"Whose side are you on, John Watson?"

"Yours, but-"

"So listen!" Sherlock's sudden increase in volume startled John. "Moriarty is alive. I don't know how, but he _must_ be. I can feel it."

John snorted. "Seriously? You can _feel_ it?" he asked incredulously, "Have you got psychic powers now, as well as your deductive ones?"

The detective rolled his eyes. "If I'm clever enough to fake my death, so is he. And if he is alive – which he _is_ – he will be coming back shortly. In fact, he already has."

He took the note from his pocket and handed it to John, who studied it curiously.

"This doesn't mean anything…" the latter muttered.

"Trust me, John. You do trust me, don't you?"

"Of course I do," John seemed shocked that his friend would even _ask_ that, "You're my best mate. I trust you, Sherlock, I just think you've made a mistake."

"I _never_ make mistakes."

John cleared his throat pointedly.

"_Almost_ never."

"Shouldn't you go and visit Molly?" John inquired, changing the subject, "You've barely spoken about her today. For weeks she's been all you could think about but now-"

"I still think about her every minute of the day, John," Sherlock cut in, "She means everything to me."

* * *

**Seems like an okay place to end it.**

**I'm sorry about my short chapters, stupid chapter titles and well... Everything.**

***sigh* This is moving so quickly.**

**I'm sorry. I _had_ to have Moriarty in there somewhere. But the question is, is he _really_ alive? Or is Sherlock just being stubborn?**

**Will Mark come back? **

**The truth is I don't know.**

**I should plan these things out really.**

**SOMEONE PLEASE GIVE ME PERMISSION TO WRITE ANOTHER FIC ON TOP OF THE TWO I'M DOING ALREADY!**

**I'm sorry but even though that would be THREE stories on the go I REALLY want to write something else.**

**Please let me.**

**I'll go now.**

**Hev :) **


	5. The Woman on the Bridge

**Hello everyone! Wow, it's been a long time since I updated. It's ze half term now, so that means lots of time to update!**

**This chapter moves quickly, as does the whole story. It's going to be stretched over a period of time, including many people from our character's pasts and futures, and eventually ending with... You can probably guess ;)**

**Thanks to everyone for the reviews, as always! They mean so much to me - it's my motivation :)**

**This chapter has the second person to be given a second chance. I'll give you a clue: it's a she.**

**Wow, ****_brilliant_**** clue there, Heaven.**

**Thank you for reading! :)**

* * *

A week passed with no developments. Sherlock continued the search for Moriarty, although he still prioritised spending time with his betrothed. There was nothing in connection to the triple murder case. No new evidence had been discovered, no leads had been found. Lestrade and his team were struggling to solve the mystery.

If Sherlock was right (which, in his opinion, he obviously was) Moriarty had led the victims to their death. It was just a matter of finding out who had actually done the dreadful deed, and why the murder victims had accepted the invitations in the first place.

There had to be a motive. Moriarty always had a reason for what he did. Was this his next game? Was he hatching a plot to finish Sherlock once and for all? Again.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked up quickly at Molly, who was standing in front of him, looking concerned. How long had she been stood there?

"Are you okay?" the pathologist questioned, handing him a mug of coffee, "You were muttering something. I was worried-"

"I'm fine," Sherlock interrupted tetchily. He sighed. "No, I'm sorry, I've just got a lot on my mind."

Molly let out a quiet laugh and sat down beside him on the leather sofa. "I understand."

"Has anything interesting occurred recently?" questioned her fiancé.

Molly wondered if she should tell him about Mark, but he hadn't been in touch since they ran into each other outside the café. Maybe he had changed his mind when he realised she wasn't single?

She sighed. _Some people never change._

"Not much," she said eventually, answering Sherlock's question, "Oh, there was a new body brought to the morgue. Greg thinks it's connected to the-"

"Why didn't he tell me?" Sherlock asked himself, standing up suddenly, "If it's to do with the case, I have to know. It's the only way of solving it."

He made for the door, leaving Molly confused.

"Where are you going?" the woman inquired.

"Scotland Yard," Sherlock told her, "I've got work to do."

* * *

The whole of Scotland Yard fell silent as Sherlock waltzed through the doors. Chatters could be heard as he passed by desks. It seemed everyone in the Metropolitan police force knew who he was now, which wasn't surprising after the infamous Reichenbach incident.

He walked briskly towards Lestrade's office, where the inspector was sat with a cup of coffee in his hand and his feet resting on the desk.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock hissed, baring his teeth in a way that resembled an angry wolf.

"Nice to see you too," Lestrade replied sarcastically, "Listen, Sherlock, if this is about the serial killings then I suggest you just leave."

Sherlock scoffed. "You know perfectly well I'm your only chance of solving the case," he said, rather arrogantly, "I am _not_ leaving."

"I'm afraid you're not allowed to help with this particular case anymore, mate," the detective inspector informed him, "I've had orders from on high."

"Orders from whom?" As soon as he'd asked the question, Sherlock knew the answer, "Mycroft. I should have known."

Lestrade nodded and smiled awkwardly.

"He told you I shouldn't be working on the case because I think Moriarty is responsible," the consulting detective continued, "Which can only mean that he is responsible, because otherwise why would Mycroft want to stop me from being involved? He doesn't want me to find out the truth."

"Sherlock…" Lestrade cast his friend a bemused expression.

"I'm afraid, _brother dear_, that I already know the truth," Sherlock appeared to be talking to himself now, "Lestrade, if you will not allow me to work with you because of some stupid request from my brother, so be it. But I guarantee I will solve this for myself, and when I do I can find Moriarty."

* * *

Molly let out a sigh as she unpacked her equipment. She couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that Sherlock had left her on her own to go off on a case. Although, she supposed, it was better than him leaving to be with another woman.

* * *

Sherlock continued the hunt for Moriarty all day, making absolutely no progress. His homeless network were of little help to him. None of them seemed to know anything about Moriarty's whereabouts.

By evening he was incredibly frustrated at the lack of information he was receiving. He ended up pacing up and down Tower Bridge, his hands in the usual praying position under his chin. Surprisingly, despite the sounds of the city, he found it incredibly easy to slip away into his mind palace. The sound of the cars passing was relaxing, in a way.

People passing by stared at him like he was made as they walked along the bridge, but he took little notice of them. None of them were worth his time.

"Mr Holmes?"

He stops in his tracks. He'd recognise that voice anywhere.

Swiftly, he turned around and stared disbelievingly at the figure who was stood before him. She was dressed casually, in a white shirt and black cardigan (a slightly more revealing version of what Molly usually wore). Her hair was loose, resting on her shoulders and forming soft curls. She looked… _Normal_.

"_Adler_?"

"What on earth are you doing out here at this time?" Irene questioned.

"I could ask you the same thing," Sherlock stated in response.

They started at each other for a moment, neither of them really believing that this encounter was actually happening.

"What are you doing in London?" Sherlock asked eventually, "I would have thought it was too dangerous, considering you're supposed to be dead."

"You know what it's like to be a ghost, Mr Holmes," the woman reminded him, smirking, "Nobody ever notices you."

She moved closer to him, until there was only a couple of inches between them. Sherlock took a step back, but discovered that he was standing at the edge of the bridge. Irene lifted her hand to stoke his cheek. He took a firm hold of her wrist and lowered her arm, shaking his head.

She looked disheartened. "Why are you so reluctant?" she pondered to herself.

"I will regrettably have to inform you that I am engaged," Sherlock told.

Irene's eyes widened in shock. "Engaged?" she asked, surprised, "To whom? I thought you didn't care about love."

"That was before I realised that I _am_ in love," Sherlock responded, "It is none of your business, _woman_."

She seemed visibly upset for a moment, but after a couple of seconds she laughed. "Shame. I've developed somewhat of a fetish for those cheekbones."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You never answered my question. What are you doing here?"

"I need your help."

* * *

**What did you think? I wanted to get Irene into the story fairly quickly. I love her. I love her attitude towards everything - like it's all just one big game.**

**I think Sherlock definitely admires her, and I think there was some attraction there at some point, but it isn't love. No, he loves Molly and only Molly, and Molly loves Sherlock and only Sherlock, but Irene also sort of loves Sherlock, and maybe someone else loves Molly?**

**Wow that was complicated. For me, anyway.**

**Thanks for reading, once again. See you soon, everybody! :D xxx**


	6. Thinking and Fighting

**Hello again everyone. Sorry I haven't updated for like... A month... Wow that's a long time... **

**In this chapter there is a lot of arguing. **

**Thanks for all the reviews! As always they mean so much to me :)**

**And this chapter is dedicated to Florence, who is now a reader of all my fanfics and supports me along the way :)**

**Thanks guys.**

* * *

Sherlock and Irene stood in the living room of 221b Baker Street, neither one of them saying a word. There was a hint of fear in the woman's eyes that worried Sherlock slightly. Although he did not care for her, he felt a certain need to protect her. She was an intelligent woman – a worthy opponent. Sherlock did not give these up easily, as there were not many of them.

"So," he began, his icy eyes fixed on her, "Why do you require my assistance?"

"I've done something stupid," Irene told him, "I went back to Asia and now the terrorists know that I am alive."

Sherlock swallowed. He remembered when he had saved the woman from a group of extremists in Karachi – how he had faked her death and led her to safety. That was a long time ago, and Sherlock had not been expecting to hear about it ever again.

"I know it was careless of me," continued Irene, "But now they're hunting me down like a pack of dogs and I need your help."

There was silence for a moment as Sherlock thought of a response.

"Tell me one thing and I will help you," he requested.

"Of course. What is it?"

"Is Moriarty alive?"

* * *

Molly lay on her sofa, dressed in a pair of strawberry-print pyjama bottoms and an old pink t-shirt. Toby was sprawled out on the floor, purring gently in his sleep. The only other noise was the faint sound of footsteps upstairs. The silence was chilling, but Molly preferred it this way. In her dark, quiet flat, she was able to think without any disturbances.

She bit her nails as she thought about Sherlock. He had been away for so long and she was getting worried. Surely he wasn't still working on the case? She wondered if he was somewhere else – with _someone_ else – but she quickly dismissed the idea. Sherlock wasn't like that, and even if he was with somebody it was probably just John or Lestrade.

She remembered the night many weeks ago when Sherlock had brought her back to 221b. He had been so gentle towards her, so warm and kind. It was the first time she had realised that he cared deeply for her and would do anything for her.

She grinned at the memory, but her smile faded when she started to think about Robert. She pitied him. It wasn't his fault that he had health problems, although, on the other hand, he had hurt her and that was never right.

Molly sat up and looked at her watch. She bit her lip. Sherlock had been gone for _hours_.

* * *

Irene blinked a couple of times, surprised at the question. Sherlock noticed that her hands were shaking a little.

"I don't know," she replied eventually, her gaze drifting towards the mantelpiece.

Sherlock smirked. "You're lying," he stated, "I can tell. Now, tell me the truth, is he alive?"

The woman closed her eyes and sighed. "He's alive," she whispered, "But he can't know that I told you."

"Thank you," Sherlock answered, "You have been very helpful. Goodnight."

"_That's_ it?" queried Irene, her voice loud with anger, "You said you'd help me!"

"You can fight your own battles. You don't need me to fight them for you."

The woman's eyes were blurred with tears. She blinked them away quickly. "You're just going to let me die, then?" she asked, "You're going to let them _kill_ me?"

Sherlock smiled and nodded nonchalantly.

"Mr Holmes, I would do _anything_ for you and this is how you repay me?"

"You can't expect me to do everything for you," Sherlock retorted, "It's your own fault."

"That doesn't change the fact that I need your help," snapped Irene, "Please, Mr Holmes, I'm begging you-"

"_Don't_ beg," Sherlock ordered, "I'll think of a way to get you out of this mess."

Irene furrowed her brows, confused. "But you said-"

"I know what I said. I've changed my mind. Now _get out_."

The woman smiled gratefully and walked towards the door. Sherlock followed her down the stairs.

"Goodbye, Woman."

"Goodbye, Mr Holmes."

As she walked away, Sherlock took his phone from his jacket pocket and entered two messages. He sent the first to his brother and the other to Molly:

**The Woman. Back in London. On the run from terrorists. Sort it. SH**

**Was dealing with an old foe. Back soon. SH**

* * *

Molly poured herself a glass of cranberry juice and took several big glugs. She leaned against the refrigerator, put a hand to her head and massaged her temple.

Her phone beeped and she jumped, startled. She picked the small gadget up from the countertop and read the message. She let out a sigh of relief. Sherlock was alright – that was all she needed to know to settle her thoughts. However, the words 'old foe' seemed to trigger something in her mind. Surely he didn't mean Moriarty? He was dead.

Molly thought back to Jim from IT, the funny, caring computer technician who had bought her coffee and watched _Glee_ with her. Jim had seemed so _genuine_. It was heart-breaking to think that he was a ruthless criminal who had _used_ her to get to Sherlock. It would have been better if he _was_ gay. That way Molly wouldn't have to cope with the emotional aftermath of finding out her boyfriend was a _psychopath_.

She really didn't have much luck with men. Mark, Robert, Jim… All of those relationships had led to tears in the end. Despite what had happened in the past, Molly now had the man of her dreams and that one fact was enough to make her smile again.

* * *

Sherlock arrived at Molly's flat with a bouquet of purple flowers in his hand.

"You… You bought me flowers?" Molly asked with a smile, taking the flowers from him.

"Purple hyacinths," Sherlock told, "They mean 'I'm sorry'."

Molly looked up at him, confused. "You have nothing to apologise for, though."

"Yes I do. I left you alone all night without telling you where I was or what I was doing. For that I apologise."

The mousey woman stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. "You didn't have to buy me flowers," she giggled, "But thank you."

Sherlock smiled. "You're welcome. Do you forgive me?"

"Of course I do, you daft idiot! Now come inside. It's cold out there."

Sherlock wiped his feet on the doormat before he entered and then took a seat on the sofa. Molly made her way over to the kitchen, where she got a vase and filled it with water. She put the flowers in the vase and walked back over to her fiancé.

"So," she began, sitting down beside him, "What have you been up to all night?"

"I spent a while working on the case," Sherlock told, "But then I bumped into the Woman."

"Woman? What woman?" Molly inquired.

"_The_ Woman," continued Sherlock, "The Woman woman. She needed my help with something so-"

"Sherlock, which woman? Who were you with?"

"The Woman. Irene Adler."

"Oh, _that_ woman!" Molly said, realising who he was referring to, "I read about her on John's blog. Isn't she de-"

"No," Sherlock cut in.

"Okay, but what did she-"

"She needed my help because she is being tracked down by a group of terrorists."

Molly nodded slowly. "Yes, but Sherlock, on John's blog he said that you were… You had… He said you had feelings for her."

"I do," Sherlock responded, "But I do not love her, if that is what you are thinking. I merely admire her as a rival."

Molly remained silent for a moment. "But Sher-"

"Oh, Molly, _please_!" Sherlock interrupted, raising his voice, "Do you not trust me?"

"Of course I trust you," the woman looked hurt by his accusation, "I love you, Sherlock, you know that."

"Then stop questioning me about Irene Adler!" barked Sherlock.

"I was just interested!" Molly shouted back, clenching her fists, "I know you would never cheat on me!"

"Stop implying it then!"

"I'm not!"

Molly stood up and quickly waked over to the other side of the room. She banged her head against the wall in rage.

"Ow," she mumbled.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked, his voice suddenly calm again.

"I'm fine," Molly sniffled, rubbing her forehead. She turned around and looked at Sherlock with a timid smile. "You realise we just had our first proper argument?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, and I am sorry that you felt the need to start it."

Molly's jaw dropped in anger. "_Me_? _I_ started it?! How dare you even suggest that…?!" She stopped when she noticed that Sherlock was laughing, "Oh, right, so you're making fun of me now?"

"No, I'm sorry," Sherlock replied, "That was my fault. It won't happen again."

Molly smiled and walked over to him. The detective stood and pulled her into an embrace.

"I love you, Molly. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I love you too."

* * *

**Well, there you go. What did you think? **

**Time for some Irene headcanon time... I think that although she acts like this strong, playful dominatrix, she is actually very vulnerable and uses her job as, well, 'her protection'. I see her being someone with a big heart, although she never lets anyone see that side of her. Maybe something happened to her to make her that way? I think that she fell in love with Sherlock and he is the only person she lets see her emotions.**

**As for Sherlolly... Well, they had to have an argument at some point ;)**

**Thanks for reading :D xxx**


	7. Masking the Truth

**So I finally decided to update! I'm sorry about how long this keeps taking, just recently I haven't had the motivation to update my stories. But I'm here now!**

**In this chapter... I'm not going to tell you :)**

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews, and thanks for reading!**

* * *

A few weeks passed.

Sherlock hadn't heard anything more from Irene Adler, nor had any developments been made on the murder case. However, right now only two things were on his mind – the wedding and Moriarty.

Moriarty _was_ alive – the woman had confirmed it – but he had not yet been in touch. Sherlock wondered whether he had another grand plan up his sleeve.

Every time he tried to concentrate on tracking Moriarty down, he was distracted by thoughts of the wedding. _His_ wedding. In a few months he would be married to Molly, a thought that made him smile. They still had a lot of work.

So, for the time being Sherlock abandoned his search for Moriarty and instead focused on the wedding, even though there was something inside of him that told him this was a bad idea.

* * *

Molly had seen a lot more of Sherlock since their argument, which was something she appreciated hugely. He was no longer working on a case for hours each night. He had been extremely romantic, taking her out to dinner and buying her gifts.

But there was something unusual in his behaviour. Molly could tell there was something troubling him, and she intended to find out what.

She asked him several times if he was okay, and the answer was always the same:

"Why wouldn't I be?"

This always meant that something was wrong.

Molly bit her lip as she slouched back in her office chair. It had been a long day, although it was just as mundane as usual. Nothing ever happened when she was parted from Sherlock.

_Ring ring_

* * *

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"How's Molly?"

"_Fine_."

"How-"

"How's the diet?" Sherlock asked his brother through gritted teeth. Mycroft had been annoying him all morning, and he had finally had enough.

Mycroft scowled. "_Fine_. Thank you for asking."

"Oh, it's perfectly alright," Sherlock replied, smiling falsely, "I know how hard you're trying to lose all that weight."

They sat looking at each other for a moment, Sherlock with a triumphant grin and Mycroft with a look that would send a shiver down the spine of the bravest person. But not Sherlock; he was immune to it.

"Boys?"

Mrs Hudson knocked gently on the door and smiled at the brothers. Only Sherlock smiled back.

"Yes, Mrs Hudson?"

"I've brought you some tea," She placed a tray down onto the coffee table, "Oh, and Lestrade phoned. He said he wants to speak to you. Give him a call when you get a chance."

She quickly left the room. Sherlock furrowed his brows, and then looked back to his brother.

"Why are you even here, Mycroft?" he questioned.

"I came here to inform you that Irene Adler is now safe, but you will not be seeing her for a long time," Mycroft told, "I hope that comes as good news to you."

Sherlock nodded and smiled a little. As irritating as she was, he did care a little about the woman's welfare.

* * *

Molly jumped as the office phone started ringing. The morgue was usually so eerily quiet that the slightest noise made her start.

With a tentative hand, she picked up the phone and held it to her ear.

"Hello?"

She could hear nothing apart from the sound of steady breathing.

"This is Molly Hooper, St Bartholomew's hospital mortuary. Who is this?"

She waited again, but there was no answer.

"Who's speaking?"

After a few seconds the line went dead. Molly looked at the phone, confused. Her hand shook a little as she put it back down.

She was about to start typing out her post-mortems when she noticed that she had a new email. She clicked the link, which came from an unknown sender, and found that there was no message. The only thing on the email was an enclosed image.

She clicked on it and waited curiously. After a moment, the image flashed up on screen.

Molly gasped. Her heart started racing.

The picture was of _her_, on her way to work this morning.

She quickly clicked the little cross in the corner, removing the photograph from her view.

This was _not_ right

* * *

"Lestrade?"

"Yeah, Sherlock, I need to talk to you. It's important."

"I'm listening."

Sherlock listened intently as Lestrade told him all of the details of a new, equally brutal and seemingly motiveless murder, involving a pair of expensive glasses.

"… You're needed down in Chatham. A local D.I. there – Inspector Stanley – called me. He's a friend of mine, Stanley. Asked for you personally."

Sherlock smiled. "It sounds like an interesting case…" He paused, "But what about Molly?"

"Surely you can leave her for a couple of days?" Lestrade suggested.

"I don't know, Lestrade, the wedding's in a few months and-"

"You know you want to, Sherlock."

Lestrade hung up the phone, leaving Sherlock indecisive. His head told him to stay with Molly, to get on with planning the wedding. But his adventurous heart was desperate for a case. He decided to compromise.

He pulled his phone from out of his pocket and texted Molly:

**Off to Kent for a few days. Will be leaving in the morning. Mycroft will get you the time off work. S**

After a moment of thought, he then added:

**Couldn't refuse. Case sounded intriguing. S**

* * *

Molly sighed as she read Sherlock's second text. Initially she had thought Sherlock had organised a romantic break for them both, but of course it was just a case. It always came back to work with Sherlock. Sometimes Molly felt like the third wheel.

When she checked for other messages, she noticed that she had six from an unknown number, which had not been there when she checked last yesterday. She gulped as she read them, her hands trembling slightly.

**7:03** **-** (The exact time she woke up – she remembered looking at the alarm clock) **Good morning Molly.**

**8:47 - You look pretty today. You should wear green more often.**

**10:20 – I hope you're enjoying work. **

**10:52 – There aren't many interesting corpses today. **(That was true. They were mainly just natural deaths)

**12:37 – Fresh chicken salad. Tasty. Enjoy your coffee. **(She had this exact meal for lunch)

**17:19 – I should come and visit you some time. I miss you.**

When she'd finished reading them she was crying uncontrollably, wondering how on _earth_ the sender had all this information. It terrified her, and the last text frightened her even more because it meant it was someone she _knew_.

But who?

* * *

They set off the next morning. The drive seemed to take forever, especially in the rush hour traffic.

Sherlock took hold of Molly's hand and smiled at her.

"I didn't want to leave you alone," he told, "So I hope you don't mind helping me out with the case."

Molly swallowed. "No, it's fine."

"Are you okay?" her fiancé asked, tilting his head with concern.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

She looked away nervously, hoping he couldn't read her mind and find out the truth. She had been worrying all night, knowing that she _had_ to tell him about what had gone on yesterday, but she was too scared.

* * *

**Soooo... Who is Molly's mystery stalker? Will they solve the mystery? Where is Moriarty?**

**... And are these things connected? ;)**

**Thank you for reading! The case in this is based on an actual Sherlock Holmes story. Can anyone guess from the limited information? The prize is a virtual hug! :)**

**Thank you!**

**Heavano :) xxx**


	8. Texts to the Devil

**Here is chapter eight.**

**Thanks for all the reviews as always.**

* * *

She wasn't going to allow herself to tell him. This case was important to him. She knew how much he loved the thrill, the danger, the mystery. It probably wasn't important anyway. She'd be safe in Kent. Whoever this person was couldn't track her every movement, surely? They were probably just doing it as a practical joke, she decided. That seemed like a logical answer, or maybe she was just in denial.

Sherlock's thoughts about the case had vanished as soon as he noticed there was something wrong with Molly. His fiancée had barely spoken a word since they got in the car. They had almost reached the town of Chatham. Sherlock decided as soon as they got out of the car he would ask her what was wrong.

The town was situated next to a river, with old buildings and lots of greenery. Sherlock sighed. He had never liked the countryside, but he supposed this was better than Dartmoor.

He helped Molly out of the car and led her along the road until they reached the small bed and breakfast hotel where they were going to be staying.

"Molly," he began, "What's the matter? You've been quiet for the entire journey."

"N-nothing, it's nothing," Molly replied, biting her lip and looking down to the left.

"You're lying. What is it?"

"Just leave it, Sherlock!"

They were both surprised by her sudden outburst of anger.

"Molly…"

"Just leave me alone, Sherlock. I'm fine. We came here to solve a case. I don't want us to get sidetracked because of some trivial issue."

Sherlock's mouth twitched uncomfortably. "You sound like _me_. And it doesn't matter about the case if-"

"I'm sorry that I'm the only one who want to focus on what we're doing," Molly retorted, "You dragged me along here for a case, not so you could question me."

Sherlock blinked. Molly very rarely got angry with him like this. However, he decided it was probably best to leave her alone for a while. He would try and deduce what was wrong instead.

* * *

They quietly unpacked their belongings in the room, neither one speaking to the other.

Molly didn't know why she had snapped at Sherlock earlier. She was scared, she guessed, so very scared but she didn't want to be a burden. She loved seeing Sherlock happy. Right now, the only thing that was going to make him happy was this case.

"I'm going to investigate the murder," Sherlock spoke after a while, picking up his scarf, "Are you coming with me?"

Molly shook her head. "I think I might just stay in the hotel for a bit," she told him.

Sherlock nodded curtly. "Goodbye, then," he said, rather awkwardly, and then left the room.

The woman sighed and made her way over to the desk, where a pot of coffee had been provided. She poured herself a cup, added milk and a little sugar, before taking a seat on the bed and picking up one of her magazines.

Her phone beeped. She jumped, splashing hot coffee on her blouse. She cursed and picked up her phone from the bedside table.

**Enjoying your holiday? **

She gulped and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. It was barely ten seconds before she received another text:

**Though it's not much of a holiday if Sherlock's working.**

She felt her hands starting to shake. Another message:

**If you're bored I'm always available.**

Molly felt like throwing the phone at the wall. She was crying now, terrified for her own safety. She thought going to Kent would get her _away_ from all of this. Clearly not. This was scaring her more than Robert had done when they were dating.

**What do you want? – M x**

She clicked send, and instantly swore at herself for signing off with a kiss. It took her anonymous contact less than two seconds to reply.

**You. **

It was funny how one word had so much power. It was just like the time Sherlock had come to her for help, except this time the implication frightened her in a way that she had never felt before.

Her hands were trembling as she typed her response.

**I don't understand. – M**

There was no reply for two minutes at least, but it felt like forever. Molly was beginning to wonder if they had left her alone at last when her phone started ringing. She stared at the screen, her heart beating incredibly quickly. They hung up as soon as she answered.

**Why are you doing this? – M**

**Why do you think?**

**I don't know. – M**

**I'm bored.**

She furrowed her brows, realising how _Sherlock_ that sounded.

Another text came a few seconds later. Attached was a photograph that Molly recognised as the front of the B&B. She frantically darted over to the window and peered out, but there was no-one there.

**How did you find me? – M**

**Oh, Molly darling, it's not hard to track you.**

She wasn't sure whether she was more scared about the fact she was being followed or the fact they called her _darling._

**But why? I don't understand why anyone would do this. – M**

**I'm not just anyone.**

**Then who are you? – M**

* * *

Sherlock arrived at the police station to find a young detective who he presumed was Inspector Stanley waiting for him.

"Ah, you must be Sherlock Holmes," the young man greeted with a broad smile, eagerly shaking Sherlock's hand, "You've been informed of all the details of the case?"

"Most of them," Sherlock replied.

"Well, William Smith was the secretary of Mr Coram, who is the chairman of Yoxley publishings. Smith was stabbed. There doesn't seem to be a motive to me. A cleaner at Yoxley – Susie Tarlton - found him. You can speak to her now, if you want."

"That would be most helpful."

Stanley took him to a young woman who was obviously in shock. She was sitting in the waiting area of the police station.

"Susie," Stanley began, speaking to the woman, "This is Sherlock Holmes. He's come to investigate William Smith's murder."

Susie looked Sherlock up and down critically.

"So," Sherlock said with a false smile, "What can you tell me?'

* * *

Molly waited for an answer, thinking it unlikely that they would give her their name. She wondered whether it was Mark, but soon got rid of the idea. He had betrayed her in the past but he certainly wasn't capable of anything this malicious.

Her phone beeped.

**I am the one person on this earth besides Sherlock Holmes who has fallen in love with you. **

* * *

**Dun dun dunn!**

**Thank you for reading :)**


End file.
